Leave Out All the Rest
by Lily-On-Water
Summary: What if Max couldn't take it? What if, when Fang left, her entire world was shifted out from under her and all she saw left was to jump? What if she committed suicide? What if he was left to deal with the broken pieces? What if he broke under it? I don't own Maximum Ride.
1. Chapter 1

She is tired of pretending. She is good at it, God, she is good at it, but she is tired of it. She is tired of pasting on a smile every day, tired of pretending that she is fine, tired of trying to make herself feel something for Dylan. She can't do it anymore. She can't pretend that she doesn't still feel his lips; warm and soft, familiar and inviting against her own. She can't pretend that his voice isn't ringing through her head; that it isn't as familiar to her as her own. She's tired of tricking herself, of letting herself, even for a few minutes, believe that Dylan is Fang…he isn't, and she can't keep pretending that he is. She can't keep pretending that he can ever be Fang, she just can't.

She shouldn't have bothered to begin with. To give the flock this act; to allow them to think that maybe, just maybe their Max could come back…she should never have bothered with that. She should never have tried to get their hopes up…not when they're just going to be crushed back down in the end. Of course, she hadn't planned on this, at least, that's what she tells herself…she tells herself that she hasn't been silently planning this for the last month. And, in a way, maybe she hasn't been, maybe it just happened, but somehow she doubts that. Somewhere, deep inside of her, she had been waiting for this, watching and planning, waiting for her flock to be strong enough to get through this. Waiting for herself to be strong enough to get through this if she's being completely honest.

She had watched her flock, at dinner that night she had pasted a big smile on her face, and just watched them. She wasn't sure what she had been watching for, or maybe she was, because whatever she saw, it was enough. Enough to convince her that it's time, that they're ready and, by default, that she is ready; enough to convince herself that she can do this.

Her hands are shaking, and tears are streaming down her face as she steps into the bathtub, the one in the basement; the last thing she needs is for one of the kids to find her. Before or after it's done. No, that wouldn't do; the only person who is likely to find her down here is Mom, or maybe Iggy…much better than Angel, Gazzy, or Nudge; much better.

The tub is half full, and she allows herself to sink into it, not caring a bit that she is fully-clothed…or, at least, in her night-shirt. She is afraid that she will drop the razor, that's how badly her hands are shaking. She does drop it once, but promptly picks it back up, not allowing herself any more time to think.

It hurts, and it is hard; but still she forces it to go deep, and then deeper still until the water is too dark to see through. Her strength is ebbing out slowly, with each pulse of blood her life force seems to be slipping away. It should be scary, but it's not, it's not at all; it's a relief. There is no pain as she opens her other wrist, she has gone too numb for pain. All she feels is relief, because, for the first time in a month, there is no pretending.

The tub is filling up now, the red turning deeper shades by the second, and as it does Maximum Ride is growing weaker. She is unconscious long before her heart stops.

Just miles away he bolts up suddenly, not sure why, but drenched with sweat. His heart is beating fast, faster than he thought possible; ice seems to flood his veins; something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

He doesn't know what compels him to pick up the bedside phone, but with shaking hands he does, dialing the number that he knows as Iggy's cell phone. It rings three times without an answer and with dismay he looks at the clock, it is three a.m., Iggy won't be awake, hell, he shouldn't be awake. But for whatever reason he is, and he lets out a huge sigh of relief as the other phone is picked up.

"Hello?" The other voice is just a murmur, tired, but still he recognizes it as Iggy in an instant.

"Iggy, this is Fang. You've got to go check on Max." A force within him is compelling him to say the words, what that force is, he's not sure, but for whatever reason it is urgent and nearly screaming. "In the basement bathroom, if the door is locked bust it down, you've got to go now, Man."

"What are you talking about?" The voice is instantly alert, and he feels a wave of frustration go through him.

"I don't know, I don't know. I just woke up and I've got this feeling…" With an angry sigh, "You've got to go, though, now, hurry!" He is screaming and suspects that if he doesn't stop he will be kicked out of the hotel, but he doesn't care. His heart is still racing and he can't shake the feeling that it is already too late, that the worst has happened. What the worst is, he has no clue, just that he is fighting to keep from dropping the telephone through his trembling hands.

"Okay, okay, relax, Man." He hears the words but they don't seem to compute, "I'm going down there now."

He breathes a little easier but his entire body is tense, there is a noise on the other line and instantly he is alert, "What is it? What was that?"

"The door is locked; I'm trying to break it down." It sounds as if his teeth are gritted but there is also a sense of disbelief in it. He holds his breath. "Shit."

"What? What is it, Iggy?" He feels dread curling around his stomach and he thinks that he might puke.

"I don't know, Man," His voice almost seems to be a wail, subdued, but a wail nonetheless, the way it sounds when frightened. He'd only ever heard Iggy sound like that once, when Jeb disappeared, it had scared the shit out of him then and it scares the shit out of him now. "I can smell blood, really smell it. I can't see, though. Man, I'm calling 911."

The phone dropped out of his hand at blood, he is out the window in seconds.

**A/N: I did change the title of this, just in case anyone was wondering. I also added to this first chapter, and now I feel a little bit better about it. Please REVIEW, EVERYBODY, I need some opinions. I probably will not get to update this as often as I would like, because I'm very heavily invested in some other projects at the moment, but the more reviews I get the bigger a priority this becomes. So, please, LEAVE FEEDBACK. **


	2. Chapter 2

His stomach doesn't even have time to curdle before it empties its contents, not once, but twice, three times before he can finally force himself to walk further into the room. She is still in the tub, just as beautiful as ever, her eyes are closed and you wouldn't know there was anything wrong; not unless you looked at the water. The water that is so dark that it hardly even qualifies as blood red, Iggy is beside the tub and by the ashen expression on his already pale face he knows exactly what is in the water. If it even is water, it is difficult to believe with how dark it is; water is not supposed to be that dark. By the look on his face he knows exactly what, and who is in the water; he knows all too well.

"Did you call the ambulance?" He runs to the tub wasting no more time looking at his blind friend, his hand has plunged into the water before he even has time to consider an alternative. He grabs for her wrist, bringing it to the surface quickly and letting out a frustrated cry at the harshly severed skin before turning his head to puke. She went deep, too deep, she reached the tendon and the blood is still flowing easily from the wound. Not so much flowing a as leaking, spilling out; she has no pulse; he doesn't have to hold her wrist to know that. He doesn't have to plunge his hand back into the bloody water to know that her other wrist looks much the same, but he does anyway.

Iggy has been shaking his head, and he just now takes notice, "It's no good, Man, it's no good. I called them, but it's no good." His voice is cracked, and for the first time he becomes aware that his friend is crying, that tears are streaming down his cheeks. He becomes aware that tears are streaming down his own cheeks as well.

"She's not dead!" He screams, "She's not! She's going to be fine!" On some conscious level he knows that she is not fine, that she's gone and that there's no help for that. However, on some other conscious level, a level much closer to the one that he's on, he is screaming that if the ambulance gets here soon, they can save her. She's Maximum Ride, Maximum Ride can't die…she just can't. "Where's the freaking ambulance?"

"Be quiet, Man, you'll wake the others. They don't need to see this, it'll give them nightmares. Hell, I'm blind and it's probably going to give me nightmares." Again that croak, the only thing that makes him aware of the other person in the room; even with the croak he is only slightly aware.

His entire attention is focused on her; not her severed, broken wrist; but her. This girl; this beautiful, amazing girl; she can't be gone. Not that long ago she had been radiant, shining in that beautiful white gown at the wedding. Not that long ago she had been in his arms, he had kissed her, told her he loved her; how could she go from being in his arms one day and being so beautiful and radiant to lying in a bloody bathtub with nearly severed wrists? How could that happen? Why had this happened?

_Because you left_, some dull part of him yells, _you left and she paid for it. _No, no, that couldn't have been it. He is shaking, and he thinks that he might throw up again at the realization; it very well could have been it. She hadn't been like this before, she'd flinched at needles before, and she'd fought her ass off to save her life more than once. Now, suddenly he leaves and finds her lying in a pool of her own blood with wrists still oozing out blood? What else could it have been? There is nothing else and he feels the sob rising before he lets it out. This is his fault, he didn't pull the blade, but still he killed her…he killed the only girl he'd ever loved. He falls to the ground, unable to control the sobs that are now racking his body so hard that it hurts, each one hurts.

Iggy goes out to the front to meet the medics, he hardly notices when the boy leaves, he hardly notices when the medics rush in…he does notice when they pull her out. He notices how they put her on the stretcher, put her on the stretcher and then cover her with the long, white sheet of death. He more than notices, he jumps up, hardly able to believe the mistake they are making. "No! You've got to help her! You've got to try to save her! That's why he called you! He called you so you could save her!"

The paramedic gives him a sympathetic look, "I'm sorry, kid, there's nothing to do. This girl is gone; she was probably gone long before he called us." The man stops to give him a pat on the shoulder which he doesn't even feel, he doesn't think that he can feel. He sinks to the ground just as Iggy comes back, this time with Dr. Martinez in tow.

"Will you just tell me what happen…?" She cuts herself short as she enters the doorway, her eyes immediately moving from the white sheet to the pool of blood, shifting back and forth with a rapidity that is almost frightening. "Max!" She screams, "Oh, my God!" She is sobbing now, almost hysterically, and clutching at her chest as though her heart might stop. He can't bring himself to care.

She spots him, and like a vulture she is on him, "Fang! Fang, what happened? What happened? What did she do?" She seems oblivious to the violent shaking of his body and only adds to it by grasping his shoulders and shaking him hard enough so that he can feel his brain nearly rattling around. "What happened? What did you do to her?" The shaking becomes enraged now and as if sensing it Iggy comes and tries to pull her off with no success, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?"

A paramedic comes and helps Iggy restrain her, but it wouldn't have mattered, he couldn't feel it when she was shaking him anyway. "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO HER! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!" It is as much for himself as for her that he shouts the words; maybe more for himself. Maybe if he gets louder it'll make the words seem more real…that's got to be the key…right?

Some of the others are standing in the doorway, he doesn't bother to look to see who they are; he doesn't bother to look as Dr. Martinez as she is led out of the room by the paramedic who earlier restrained her. He doesn't look when he hears the terror-filled scream that can only belong to Angel; he doesn't look, not once. He can't look up, can't because he is transfixed by the blade in his hand…the blood-covered blade.

**A/N: I'm actually really happy with this chapter, how do you guys feel? It was much easier for me to write and hopefully that showed and you enjoyed reading it. On that note, I must beg you to please LEAVE A REVIEW…not necessarily a big one, just one to show me that you care. I'd like to thank **scarsofthepast27**,** Bri4everyoung**, and **JealousMindsThinkAlike** for reviewing the first chapter! I love the support please keep it up! **


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't pick it up. He doesn't remember picking it up; doesn't remember feeling the edge of it when he reached into the murky water. He doesn't remember his fingers closing around it, but they must have. They must have closed around it when he reached in to pick up her wrist; that's the only explanation. That's the only reasonable explanation as to why he is holding a blade still dripping water colored red by blood; her blood. It falls to the floor with a clang. He doesn't hear it. He doesn't hear anything; not the clang of the blade, not the anguished cries of the flock, not Dr. Martinez's angry screams…the retreading sound of the ambulance. He doesn't hear any of it; he can't.

He can't hear anything through the static; static like TV during a bad thunder storm. It blocks out everything and it blocks everything out well. He just wishes it could block out her picture, or more like her video. Her video playing in rapid succession; her entire life…or at least all of it that he can remember. Her life from when Jeb was still living with them, when they had still been able to be kids up to when she had walked down the aisle in that beautiful white dress at Total's wedding. It flashes by him and it is haunting, truly haunting.

Why had he ever left her? Why would he even have considered it? He had had the best life possible, he had had the most amazing girl to ever walk the earth, and he had had an amazing family around him. Why had he given that up? Why had he thrown away so much…what had it gotten him? What had it gotten her?

He had made a mistake, and he had paid the price for that mistake. Or, rather, she had paid the price for that mistake…with her life. The price was too high.

He picks up the blade, not even really conscious of what he is doing; it is in his hand now, and he imagines this is how Max must have felt. Nobody is paying attention to him either; at least not that he notices. Nobody had noticed when Max held it either; he feels a rush at the fact. Max had held this razor, Max had held it over her skin just the way that he is holding it over his now; Max's blood stains the edge of it just as his will in a matter of seconds. He takes a quick glance in either direction, securing that nobody is looking at him; nobody is going to stop him; nobody is.

It is resistant at first, but with just a small amount of force it makes its cut, makes its cut go deeper and deeper until it won't go anymore. He smiles at the pain of it, smiles at the flow of blood running onto the floor; smiles through his tears. He will be with her soon, in a matter of minutes he will be with her, and he can explain. He can explain everything, and she will no longer hate him; he will no longer hate himself. They will be even.

Without hesitation he draws the blade out, slips it with much the same effect as deeply as he can into the other wrist, trying to get it to go as far as possible before somebody notices or he blacks out. It hurts, and he winces, but then he goes back to smiling; no, it won't be long now.

"Fang!" Somebody screams and suddenly they are all on him, the guy who patted his shoulder earlier is there, this time trying to administer First Aid, but it's pointless. His vision is a black tunnel, and at the end of that tunnel is a white light. She is standing at the end of it, her wings out like an angel's…he runs to her.

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short, but I do like how it turned out so I guess I'm not all that sorry. Now, if you want me to CONTINUE this I'm going to need a freaking TON of REVIEWS. I have a lot of projects going on right now and school is getting ready to start so the fight for my time is very intense. So, I am open to continuing this, and I have ideas for it, two ideas actually. I would like to ask you all to go to my profile and vote on which of those ideas you would like to see used. Now, remember, if you want it to be CONTINUED, you MUST REVIEW. The more REVIEWS I get the QUICKER I UPDATE. Thanks a ton to **JealousMindsThinkAlike **for reviewing the last chapter! Also, don't forget to go to my PROFILE and VOTE on that pole!**


	4. Chapter 4

She is beautiful here, wherever here is; even more beautiful than on Earth. On Earth she was weighed down with useless emotions: doubt, regret, pain, depression… and all the like; here she is iridescent. All those useless emotion, they're thrown away; making room only for the good emotions. That's why she looks so much lighter here…that's why he feels so much lighter here; that and she's here. That alone is enough to wipe away all the rest; that alone is enough to make everything worthwhile. As though reading his thoughts she smiles, reaching out to take his hand in hers. "It's beautiful here, isn't it?"

He nods, not quite believing that her hand is in his; not quite believing that this can be real. He doesn't quite believe it; but it must be. He squeezes her hand, feeling the warmth and strength radiating from it, how can that not be real? How can this not be real? It must be; that's the only answer; it must be real. "Where are we?" He leaves the question of if this as a reality unspoken, but she seems to pick up on it anyway.

She laughs, it is a twinkling sound and it instantly makes him smile. "This is real…at least I think it is…and if I think so and you think so then who's going to tell us differently?" He nods, that makes sense, "I'm surprised you don't recognize it. This was our house back when we lived with Jeb, before he turned traitor and left us." She smiles a sad smile, "Back when everything was perfect and we were all still a family…It was one of the happiest times of our lives, at least for me."

He looks around now, recognizing some of the familiar rooms, even they look more beautiful and refurbished here. More like a palace than a mere safe-house…Max is right, this was some of their best memories. This house…things had been innocent when they lived here, things had been relatively good; it was one of the only times in their lives when they had just been kids. "Is it like this for everyone? Will the others come here?"

"It's different for everyone…it's wherever you choose to be; at least that's what I think." She shrugs and then seems to muse over the question, "As for the others…I suppose they could end up here. Some of them probably will, but there's no way to know for sure."

"But I didn't choose to come here." And he hadn't, he hadn't had any thoughts in his head except for her when the razor glided over his wrist. He certainly hadn't been thinking about this house; he hadn't thought about this house in years…mostly because of the later years spent in it. "I didn't choose to come here so how did I end up here?"

She smiles, and it's obvious to him that she knows the answer to this question, "You're here because I'm here. You chose to come to me…that's why I came to get you. It's not necessarily a place you're going to; it's whatever your heart wants…this truly is a place of your creation." He opens his mouth to protest; if he created this place than how can it be real? But she cuts him off, "Just because you created it doesn't make it any less real. You're living it, right?" She pauses as if reconsidering her words, "You're here, right?"

He nods, "Yeah, I suppose I am." He pauses, ready to move on to what he truly needs to know; but unsure about how to bring it up. He doesn't want her to get mad, and he wants to look towards their future, but he needs to know just this one part from their past. "Why are we here? Why are you here? Why would you do something like that?" Despite himself he feels anger rising, "Didn't you even once think about what that might do to everyone? IGGY IS A WRECK! BECAUSE OF YOU OUR FAMILY IS A WRECK! DIDN'T YOU EVEN ONCE CONSDIER WHAT THIS MIGHT DO TO THEM?" He was screaming but he feels his voice lower almost on its own accord. "Didn't you consider what that might do to me?"

Her calm demeanor doesn't waver; she just continues to smile that sad little smile of hers, "Of course I thought about that, Fang." Her voice is gentle, but there is steel under it, "Of course I did, but you've got to understand…I wasn't doing them any good the way I was. I wasn't happy; I couldn't keep pretending I was…I just couldn't do it anymore." Tears start falling down her cheeks and without thought he wipes them away. "Surely you can understand that…you wouldn't be here if you couldn't."

He nods, "I guess you're right. I…I couldn't even look at you before I already had my plan…at least that's what I think happened. I don't really remember." He doesn't, just the blade, just the blade going deeper and deeper till the tunnel of light had appeared.

She nods, too, but fresh tears are falling down her face, "I know," She chokes, "I loved you, Fang. Don't forget that, please, don't forget that I loved you." Again she chokes and her shoulders actually seem to be preparing to wrack, "I'll always love you."

"What are you talking about?" He reaches for her hand frantically trying to get her to look at him, "Max, I love you, too; but what are you talking about? We'll be here forever…together." It sounds like a goodbye speech and it is making his stomach ache with an intensity that is almost psychically painful. He just got here…surely they're not saying goodbye…he just got here…they can't be saying goodbye.

But she is shaking her head, and that gives him all the answer that he needs. Already she is disappearing, the house fading; tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he pays them no mind. "I love you, Max, I'll always love you!" He repeats it, continues to repeat it until he can't speak anymore…until everything is blackness. There are voices in the background, one above all the rest, not the voice but the words. The words that he so desperately prays are untrue; the last words that he wants to hear.

"He's alive."

**A/N: So, what did you think? I wanted to try a taste of the afterlife so I just went about it the way that I imagined it might be for Fang and Max. I would love to hear your opinions about it, so please leave some because I'm very interested. Thanks a ton to **scarsofthepast27**, **JealousMindsThinkAlike**, and **TwiPotterHungerRidePercyLiars** for reviewing last chapter! Keep it up, please! Now, while those three have been doing great I must encourage EVERYONE to drop a REVIEW so that I can CONTINUE writing this story. Also, important to REVIEW so that I can UPDATE QUICKLY; please and thank you!**


	5. Chapter 5

Just five more minutes, he just wants five more minutes to lie in blissful silence…to keep his eyes closed against the blinding light of the world around him. Just five more minutes of time with Max. Just five more minutes to live in that other world with Max…all he wants is five more minutes before returning to reality; just five more minutes. But, of course, he can't get even that. No, of course he can't get just five more minutes in Paradise…his body will betray him, his eyes flutter open without any conscious thought on his part; he is back in a world without Max. It is like being in a world without sun; despite the blanket lying over him he is cold; there is no warmth in this place.

The room is white and he knows instantly where he is...he's only even been in one once before, back when he had been shot so long ago. Even with the years he can still identify the place; they never change; they always stay the same. Same white walls, same medical posters, same white sheets and identical white chairs lining the far wall…he is in a hospital. His head hurts slightly and his wrists are wrapped in thick white bandages; Iggy is sitting in one of the chairs against the wall. Ella is with him. Ella is with him just like how Max should be with himself. Iggy can't even see Ella and yet still she is with him. He could see Max but now he never will; he'll never see her again; not for as long as he is here. As long as he is here Max is truly gone…in the chair Ella's eyes widen.

Her eyes widen and it is too late for him to pretend that his are still shut. Too late because within seconds she has told Iggy and Iggy has come out of his stupor and made his way to the bed. Ella has left the room. He sighs mentally but resigns himself to this…it's time to face the music. He had hoped that this time would never come…that the bathroom would be the end of this…but of course all that hope was for not; he will never catch a break.

"What were you thinking, Man?" He flinches; because he had been expecting anger…he had been expecting Iggy to yell at him…he had not expected this almost somber whisper. It is creepy, what is more creepy is the way that his unseeing eyes are focused directly on him; his blood almost seems to chill. "Would you really have left us like that?"

There is something too quiet in that voice; something is lurking inside of it; something is fighting to break free of his careful constraint. The other boy's throat wobbles viciously and he can see that he is fighting to swallow down a lump. He can see it but he doesn't feel anything towards it…like maybe this is just the norm… Like he's seen Iggy in this awful state before…he's never seen Iggy anywhere close to this before.

"I had to, Ig." It sounds like a plea, and he knows that is for more than just understanding; he doesn't care right now if Iggy understands…he just wants him to let him go. Just wants to be left with Max. "I can't live without her, Ig…I love her. I love her more than I've ever loved anyone…you have no idea what that's like."

The other boy is shaking his head now, and he can see the anger rising in the way his fists are clenched. He is sorry that his words are having this affect, that his actions are having this affect, but there is nothing for it. It is the truth…and Iggy deserves the truth, the leader of the flock deserves the truth and he is the leader. Now that Max is truly gone Iggy is the leader. That does nothing to soften the blow of his words.

"WE LOVED HER TO! WE LOVED HER TO AND WE HAVE ALL JUST BARELY PROCESSED THAT SHE'S UNDER A SHEET AND THEN ALL OF A SUDDEN YOU'RE LYING IN A POOL OF YOUR OWN BLOOD!" He is shouting now and there is no attempt at staunching his tone, he keeps it up easily. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT FELT LIKE! YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT ANY OF THAT WAS LIKE! YOU LEFT HER…YOU'RE THE REASON THAT SHE'S GONE AND YOU DON'T GET TO REACT LIKE THAT!"

He flinches, but he doesn't say anything; doesn't say anything because it's true, and he knows that. He knows that it's true; it doesn't make it hurt any less…but it is true. It's true and that's why he lets him continue without interruption. He deserves this…after what he had put him through Iggy deserves this. He is not prepared for what Iggy says next, though, not at all.

"You know who found you?" His voice is back to that scary quiet, "Angel. She's the one who noticed you…you know, that little seven-year-old who adores you? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT DID TO HER? DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THAT MIGHT DO TO HER? DO YOU? DID YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT THAT?"

It hits him like cold water. No, he had never thought that Angel might see him surrounded in blood; he had never even considered that as a possibility. He is flooded with shame and dimly a sense of horror… so much so that he can't even bring himself to be mad when Iggy's next suggestion, no; his next statement comes. He can do nothing but nod.

"Fang, they're sending you to the psychiatric ward…they think that you need some intensive therapy…that you might be tempted to do something like this again without it. They're taking you there this afternoon."

**A/N: Sorry it's been awhile but I just went back to school so I've been super busy with that. I hope this chapter was up to everyone's standards it's been awhile and I'm not completely sure about it but I do feel pretty good about it and it definitely accomplished what I wanted it to. I hope you all feel the same and I'm praying that you will all review and tell me what your thoughts were on it. So, I would love to thank **JealousMindsThinkAlike**, **TwiPotterHungerRidePercyLiars**, **legendaryhuntress**, and **Maxie89** for reviewing on the last chapter! Thanks a ton! Now, EVERYBODY please REVIEW if you want QUICK UPDATES!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Angel's point of view.**

Nobody else had noticed him; there had been eight other people in the room and she was the only one whose gaze had fallen to the boy lying beside the tub. The boy lying in a pool of his own blood; blood that you would assume had sloshed out from the side of the tub; she would have assumed that if not for the razor clutched in his hands. She had screamed, of course she had screamed, at first it hadn't even registered that it was Fang, but once it did you can bet that that only made her scream louder. After that she had been led out of the room…it had either been Iggy or Gazzy who had led her out the room…or maybe it had been Ella…but whoever it was…their thoughts had been very dark. Dark and blood-filled, mixed with terror and confusion…come to think of it those might have been her own.

Something was wrong with her; something had to have been wrong with her. She should have picked up on what Max had been thinking…she should have been able to prevent this…but she hadn't. She hadn't picked up on anything outside of the usual and Max must have worked hard to keep it that way…but still, surely there was something she could have done…surely she could have stopped this. If only she had tried harder…looked more…she could have stopped all of this…she could have saved Max. She is sure of it. She is sure of it and suddenly it is too much and not for the first time this day she cries. She doesn't sob; there's no wracking shoulders or hunched over posture…no, she had done enough of that earlier…she had watched enough of the others do that earlier… she had seen enough sobs to last her a lifetime.

So instead of sobbing she opts to sit back, sit back and let the tears flow down her cheeks and drip onto the hard plastic of the waiting chair. She hates the waiting chair. She's been sitting in the waiting chair since after midnight and now it's early morning; she is tired of it and she is tired of this. This is too much; everybody is crying or has been crying… right now the other half of the flock is outside and flying; trying to release their guilt. Like they have anything to feel guilty over; they're not the ones who can supposedly read minds, they're not the ones who should have been able to predict this. They're not the ones who spent almost every-waking second with the girl and still couldn't see what was probably her deepest thought. All of the others are normal bird-kids; they couldn't have known about anything to prevent this…but she could have. She could have and she didn't. She hadn't even picked up on Fang until it was too late… except it hadn't been too late because she had screamed. She had screamed and then the paramedics had helped him… they had gotten to him just seconds before it had been too late. But it had been too late; he had been dead… she had lost Max and she had lost Fang, but then they had saved him. They had brought him back. Because of her they had brought him back.

Iggy comes out of the long hallway and his mind is as open as a picture book. He is upset, but that's nothing new, they are all upset… but his is more anger than anything else. He is angry at Max but he is more angry at Fang… he's angry and he's scared…he's not ready to become the leader. He doesn't want to become the leader…he wants things to go back to normal…he doesn't know if he can do this. He doesn't know if he wants to do this…but at the same time he knows that he has to. He is paler than a sheet and his fists are clenching and unclenching right up until he makes his way to the chair beside hers.

"You okay, Ange?" The concern in his voice is enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes, mostly because has been asking her this all day… it has always had the same answer.

She doesn't have to say anything before his arms slip around her and she cries into them. "He's going to be okay, Ange…don't worry about that. He's doing great." They both know it's a lie but neither says anything. "He's upset that you found him, Angel, that's about the only thing that really bothered him in there."

She nods, she knows Fang well enough to know that he wouldn't wish this on her…wouldn't wish this on anyone; not in the flock at least. "Ella's outside…if you wanna go talk to her. The others are out there too." He nods, gives her a quick squeeze and gets up to go. He is almost to the door when he turns around.

"You really did save his life, Angel." And he is gone. She is alone…she is alone but she won't be for long. She's going to visit Fang; she gets up and heads for the hallway…nobody will stop her.

**A/N: Okay, so one of you requested a chapter from the kid's points of views and so I decided to give it a test drive…I was going to use Iggy but I decided it was more of an open opportunity with Angel. Next chapter should be back to Fang but what did you all think? Did you like this glimpse or did you feel it was taking away from the actual story? I'm curious. I'm also very sorry that I haven't updated lately but of course, homework is freaking awful…like drowning awful. On the bright side, though, you are all doing freaking amazingly with your reviews. KEEP IT UP! I'm hoping for ten on this chapter and we're not that far from making it! Yay! At least by last chapter's stats we're not far from making it! So, if you want an update any time soon at all you will need to review like crazy! Got it, get it, good. **


	7. Chapter 7

In the shadow of these white walls and matching steel appliances she almost resembles her namesake…in his present condition she does resemble her namesake; an angel. He knows better than that, though; he recognizes this familiar figure…he recognizes this girl despite the tear tracks staining her face, despite the absence of light in her eyes. With a sense of dread and intense, excruciating pain he recognizes Angel… he recognizes the girl who saved his life. The girl who took Max away from him for the second time; he doesn't see that when he looks at her, though. He kind of wants to see it; he wants to see someone that he can blame for taking away his happiness…he wants to see someone whom he can hate… but all he sees is Angel. All he sees is the little girl whom he partially raised throughout her life with tears glistening in her eyes and pouring down her cheeks. All he sees when he looks at her is pain and the knowledge that he is the cause of it; at least partially he is the cause of it. He opens his arms; she is in them in seconds.

"Why…why would she…why would she do that, Fang? Why?" Her small body is shaking in his arms and her breathing is only a collection of gasps, he notices with a sting that she doesn't ask why he did it. Then again, she doesn't need to; she doesn't need to because the scene explained itself. He wants to pull her up so that she can sit on the bed; normally he could do this with no effort whatsoever… now it would rip out his stitches…something he won't do in front of her. Luckily she seems to read his mind and hops up without his help; he keeps an arm around her all the same.

"I don't know, Angel." But he does, "I don't know why she did it." She did it because of him; if he hadn't left she'd still be alive. If he hadn't left then Angel would still have the only mom she's ever known with her. He would still have the love of his life with him.

He doesn't want to tell Angel that, though, even if she'll see it in his head he doesn't want to have to physically say it to her. By the way she nods he knows that she understands, she understands all of it… too well. She understands all of it much too well. He gives her a quick squeeze before ruffling her hair with half-numb fingers… if she notices his lack of energy she doesn't say anything.

"How did you get back here, Angel? Where's Iggy?" Surely he wouldn't have let her come back here on her own? Surely he wouldn't have wanted to let her see him like this? Iggy would have kept her out in the waiting room all night before letting her come back here… he's sure of that… between Iggy and the nurses she would be hard-pressed to find entrance to this back room; to this white-walled jail cell.

She raises an eyebrow at him as though he should have guessed how she got back here; which, really he probably should have, but that doesn't matter. "Mind control is much more helpful than it used to be." She laughs a little even though tears are still glistening down her cheeks, "Iggy went outside to see Ella… you don't make it easy on him, you know?"

He nods and gives a bitter sort of laugh, a few tears fall into Angel's hair, "Yeah, I know…God, I know." And he does. He had seen it in the way Iggy's eyes had been focused on him even though they couldn't see him; in the way his entire body had seemed to tremble with anger. It is too hard on him…maybe it was too much to expect him to take over the leadership of the flock… maybe it was too much too quickly but that's all there was to do. One day Iggy will understand that…one day he'll understand why he tried to do it; why he might try again to do it…but now is not the time for that.

She is quiet for a minute before she continues, not looking at him as she speaks. Her words are a shock; but at the same time he doesn't understand how they can be… they would be more of a shock if she had said anything else, really.

"Fang," A whisper, "I didn't see it, in her mind, I didn't see it; I didn't see anything about it." There is no question of what 'it' is… it couldn't be anything else…Max's suicide. He swallows but doesn't loosen his grip; if anything he tightens it.

"Angel, it's okay…" He tries to calm her but she is not buying any of it, her shoulders are just as tight and her tears just as rapid as they have been since she walked into the room. She must have been thinking about this a lot… he can tell by the way her brow furrows and by the narrow set of her eyes.

"It's not okay." Her voice is louder now and her shoulders back to trembling, "Fang, it's not okay. Don't you see?" She is crying again, the tears racing in earnest down her cheeks now. He considers wiping them away but it would be pointless. More runners would just take the track.

"I could have…I could have saved her…Fang." Her thin body is shaking now and her words are punctuated by the occasional gasp of air, he wants to tell her to slow down. To tell her that it's not her fault… to comfort her and take away her pain…but he can't. He can't because possibilities are flitting through his head like matchbox cars on a Hot Wheels track.

Max could have lived. She could have walked down to that bathroom, locked the door behind her, grasped the razor in her hand, but been stopped before she actually brought the blade to her skin. She could have been apprehended in the hallway on the way down… she could have been caught sneaking the razor and been scolded and lost her guts… she could have lived. She could be here right now, in this hospital room, with a bandage over her wrist instead of in a body bag waiting to be examined in some coroner's office. So many things could have happened to change this and all of them could have happened because of the little girl beside him.

Once again he wants to hate her. He wants to yell and curse and throw stuff at her… to at least think something bad about her…but it is more than that. He wants to want to be able to do those things; to do any of those things; but he can't. He just can't. All he can see is that little-seven-year-old girl; that girl who had meant the world to Max… he can't hate her. He can't even want to hate her. So instead he embraces her.

"It's okay, Angel." He whispers, because he knows that's what Max would have wanted him to do… she would have wanted him to assure Angel; so that's what he will do. "You couldn't have known; she would have hidden it well, you know she's good…" He swallows, "You know she was good at hiding stuff like that. She wouldn't have wanted you to be able to stop her and that's why she hid it so carefully from you… it's not your fault that she's gone." No, that would be his fault, right there; purely his fault.

She nods, "I know…I know it's not my fault…Max wanted this and I didn't have anything to do with why she wanted it." She looks at him and he feels a tear slide down his face but both pretend that it is invisible, "It just feels like it's my fault…Fang, I feel like I killed her." It is a whisper and the end of it is a punctuated sob that Hollywood only wishes it could replicate. He feels his heart shatter as though that whisper is ice.

"Angel," She won't look at him so he takes her face gently and forces her to, "Angel, no." He is dismayed to find his own voice choked, but he is not altogether surprised.

"Angel," He shakes his head again, "Angel, no… if this was anyone's fault it was mine and you have to know that's the truth." Her head is buried in his chest so he can't see her face… he can't tell whether or not she believes him; she has to believe him, though, he's telling the truth.

She nods, "I believe that you believe that you're telling the truth, Fang. I just don't know if what you and I believe is what Max believed… I don't know if I want to know what Max believed." Her sobs have quieted down to where he can actually hear her without struggling. Her sentences aren't as broken as they were earlier… just minutes earlier. It is a bit of a relief; more than a bit, a major relief.

"I think she was lost." He hardly recognizes his voice when it comes out, is hardly aware of the words. "I don't think she really knew what she was doing…not fully at least. I think that…maybe she just wanted to know where she stood… maybe she thought that if she had control over the situation…" He trails off, "I don't know. Maybe she thought it would be better for her that way."

Angel is looking at him as though he has grown a third head and he really cannot blame her… he feels like he's grown a third head. That idea burst to him as if from nowhere… but still it seems so… so right. It's the right answer… he knows it is… it has to be at least partially the right answer. It just… it just feels right, somehow… it feels… true.

"Fang, you've got a weird look on your face. Have you thought about this?" No, no he hadn't thought about that… but he had dreamed about it hadn't he? He had dreamed about Max walking down a hallway to a bathroom with a razor clutched in her hands thinking about death and about depression. He had dreamed that, woken up, called Iggy and then Iggy had found Max lying in a tub of her own blood. That had to mean something, didn't it? It has to mean something.

"It does mean something." Angel's voice interrupts his thought abruptly and he turns to her, almost forgetting that she was there. He bolts out of his thoughts with a shake but she doesn't seem to notice; she is looking at him with nothing short of amazement. "Fang, you had a premonition about Max was going to do… either that or you actually saw it while she was doing it." She turns to him with intensity nothing short of hawk-like, "Has this ever happened to you before?"

"No." He shakes his head numbly, "No, never. This has never happened to me before…What do you think it means?"

"I don't know." She shakes her head, "I don't know what it means." She lies back against his chest as though all this thinking has wiped all the energy out of her… he can understand that. He's been unconscious for who-knows-how long and already he feels wiped.

"You scared me, Fang, Gazzy and Nudge too, and Iggy… really you scared all of us… they wouldn't tell us anything for a while…" She dabs at her eyes, "We thought you were dead like Max." At the end there is another sob and it leads to an ambush of them; this little girl is cutting what is left of his heart to pieces, "I…I miss her already, Fang. It's not even been…been a day and…and I already miss her."

He kisses the top of her forehead, "I know, I miss her too," He fights to keep his voice level, "I miss her, too." And God he does. He misses everything about her from her brown eyes to her laugh… he'll always miss those things… there's no help for it… but he doesn't need to think about this… not when Angel is close enough to see it… not here and now. So instead he will think of happier times… of the flock together and of learning to fly like the hawks… everything but his depression… he leaves that on a backburner. Next to it he leaves Max in the tub… for now he won't think about her lifeless body drowning in the too murky waters… he'll just think of her the way she was.

Angel is still asleep on his lap when they come for him.

**A/N: Well, I'm much happier with this than last chapter… I'm not sure why. It just came to me a lot easier I think… I'm very happy with it which is one of the reasons I'm putting it out so early even without all the reviews that I wanted. Now, of course I must thank those that did bother reviewing, **Raeofmydarkness**, **JealousMindsThinkAlike**, **Maxie89**, and **TheDarkAngelofAwesome**- you all are freaking amazing and please keep it up! Now, I imagine you all already know this… but I am very, very influenced by reviews… without them I have a difficult time justifying writing over whatever else I am doing or over whatever else I am writing. So, that being said, remember to please, please review! Thank you!**


	8. Chapter 8

A hole has hollowed itself out in the cavern that used to be his stomach; the pain that used to come with every pulsating-throb of his heart has been dulled. Now it could be considered a stitch at best and even at best only a small stitch. According to the doctors this means the medication is working. This means that he is getting better, that he will be able to go home soon, or at least that it's a step in the right direction… head and shoulders over where he was when he came in. They all praise him but none of them listen to him. Sure, they sit there and take their notes, watch him and pretend to consider what he says; but really they don't. He knows that they don't. It has become compellingly obvious to him that they can't hear him, or if they do they can't comprehend it. They can't comprehend that their miracle cures might not be working… that their magical-anti-depressant pills might not be working properly.

He doesn't tell them that he still dreams about suicide; that when he sleeps everything is dusted with a slight, murky coating of red; blood red, maybe darker. The dreams don't frighten him, at first they did… but not anymore; now he welcomes them. He welcomes them because they are one of the only places where he can still see her… they are the only places that the medication has yet to touch. They are the only places where he sees her as he still remembers her; as he still wants to remember her. As the young, vibrant, beautiful girl that he fell in love with… in other dreams all he sees is that girl cast out into a blood-red ocean, that girl choking on what can only be her own blood. Those dreams disturb him but he doesn't dare mention them; he did once, he did once and then they put him on more pills… since then his motto has become the fewer pills that he takes the better. The fewer pills that he has to hoard; has its advantages, but it also has its fair share of disadvantages there's no denying that.

It's not so much that he has decided to kill himself by overdose… because consciously he hasn't. It's more that he hasn't decided not to kill himself by overdose; he hasn't decided not to kill himself by anything yet. All he knows is that razors are out. For the time being, inside of this anti-death-trap of a room, razors are definitely out of the question. The only way to get even something remotely sharp would be to break a mirror and they are all unbreakable… he has tried. His fist doesn't even leave a smear, much less a crack. After a while he has to give up; you can only slam your fist into something for so long before you can't stand it anymore. Before even the thought of raising your arm makes you sick; makes you cringe; he reaches that place a long time ago. About twenty-seven swings ago yesterday.

Yesterday had not been a good day for him.

Yesterday had been group-therapy day, or, correction; yesterday had been the first day that he actually went to group-therapy. If it were up to him yesterday would be the last day too. If he had had the choice he wouldn't have even stayed for yesterday's session, he would have been out of there faster than his wings could have spread; unfortunately he hadn't had the choice. He had been forced to stay there; forced to stay there and suffer through two long hours of talk about suicide, drugs, anorexia, and just about every other thing in the book. By the end he was just about dreaming of his own death; he might even go so far as to say that he is fantasizing about it… anything to escape that room.

_"Why are you here, Fang?" Her voice had been soft; the same careful, concerned tone that she had used on all the other patients… or visitors as they called them here. It is a tone that suggests that she knows just how close you are to slipping over the edge, even if you're nowhere near it; a tone that tells him exactly what her thoughts are on him and all of the others here. To her they are all ticking-time bombs, except they've already gone off; she's just here to try and piece them back together again. For some of them she sees hope, but for others, like him, she sees right through; she knows that there is no way to repair him; he is already too broken._

_ "Apparently I'm suicidal." Best to leave as little said as possible, these people don't need to hear his life story… he's had enough of that for one day. Everybody here thinks that every single person cares about what they have to say… and the truth is that he doesn't. He doesn't care at all and he knows that the others don't either; they all have the same goal that he does; get out, and get out soon._

_ "Do you think you're suicidal?" Again with that tone and everyone is looking at him except for the nail-biters, the ones who don't look up from their laps the entire time. He doesn't know the answer to the question. _

_ Does he consider himself suicidal? Does he really? If she wasn't gone would he consider suicide? No. He wouldn't. But now that she is gone… now it doesn't feel so much like suicide as it does truly living. If the others had seen what he had seen… they wouldn't look at him the way they are; they'd have to be able to understand. They'd just have to. _

_ "I don't think I am beyond reason." He sighs; feeling sparks of anger beginning to ignite in him as if a provoked flame is resting there. "If the only person that you had ever loved decided to kill herself because of you… don't you think maybe you would start to feel disgusted with yourself, too?" _

_ "The only person?" The lady raises her eyebrows and he can feel his fist beginning to clench and unclench with a rapidity that is almost frightening. He needs to get out of here. If he doesn't he will do something reckless. So either he has to get out of here or she has to shut up. She won't. "Do you not love your sister? I heard that she was with you when they came to get you? Or how about your brother… do you really harness no love for anyone other than that one girl?" _

_ He shakes his head, "That's none of your business. That's absolutely none of your fucking business." He gets up, and without looking back walks out of the door. He can almost feel the smile on the woman's face. _

**A/N: Hey, so it's been awhile since I updated but just in case you couldn't tell this is a chapter that I was struggling with greatly. I think it turned out okay but I'm not really sure… also, my experience with psychiatric facilities is limited and so if I'm portraying something wrong or if there's something I'm not portraying well enough please tell me either in your reviews of if you feel more comfortable private message me. Now, that being said I would love to thank **TheDarkAngelofAwesome**, **Maxie89**, **Raeofmydarkness,JealousMindsThinkAlike**, **Im The Nights Shadow** for reviewing last chapter! You're all amazing! So, now, remember everybody, you have to review! Please and thank you! **


	9. Chapter 9

In the course of two weeks he has become increasingly fed up with this place; the one thing that he is even more fed up with? The nightmare; the same damn nightmare every single night with not even an hour's rest in between them. With not even the privilege of variety, just the same nightmare; just the same heartbreaking regularity and the same pool of dripping blood; the same circle around her. They all are there, all of the flock; every night. All of them are there but none of them see her; none of them see her pull the razor from her pocket and none of them see her drag it across her skin. None of them rush to her aid when she falls into the pool that she has created. They all just stand there; still as statues they block him from her. If they weren't there he could get to her… he's sure that he could if only they would move. If only even one of them would move then he would have entrance; then he could save her. But none of them ever do. No matter how much he silently wills it, no matter how much he begs, none of them ever move. They just remain, frozen in place, immovable as statues as she falls to the floor; as her eyes flutter shut. Then, when the damage is done and there is nothing to be done to save her, they all come to life. They all rush to her, they all break down and cry, call for help, but they are all too late. The girl that they had all claimed to love is gone. All that remains of her is a pale shell; a pale shell soaking in a pit of red.

He can't take it anymore. He can't take it anymore and that is the only reason that he is sitting here now; sitting across from this woman in this comfortable chair and preparing to spill his guts. That is the only reason that he is sits here, and without prodding shares with her, this stranger, his dream; his worst nightmare. That is the only reason that, even when it's over and his hands are shaking, he is still able to look her in the eyes; he is still able to hear, with some sense of rationality, her questions. It is for that reason that he forces himself to remain calm… or at least, to try.

"So how long have you been having this dream, Fang?" Her voice is gentle but the inquiry in it is not lost on him. He knows what they do; they try and befriend you, make you feel at ease, and then they pounce. Like an animal hunting its prey. He will not allow himself to become prey; he will allow himself to hear what she says, but he will not let himself be captured by her. He will not let his memories of Max be captured by her, either.

"Every night since I came here." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, it is an effort to hide the shaking but it is not quite a successful one. The woman eyes his hand thoughtfully before turning her gaze back to his eyes.

"Why didn't you come and ask for help before? You've been here almost three weeks and we've met three or four times but you never said anything. You know this room is a safe haven; I'm in here to help you, everyone in this ward is here to help you. All you have to do is ask for it."

"I don't need help." He grits his teeth, balling his hands into fists, "I just need something so that it doesn't ruin me… a pill or something."

"So that the nightmare doesn't ruin you?" She seems to note the repeated pattern of clenching and unclenching of his fists because she smiles a small, sad type of smile. "I'm sorry, I really am, but it's my job to make sure we're each on the same track here."

Tersely he nods, not trusting himself to speak. He can feel his thin grip on control beginning to slip. If she notices the grinding of his teeth she doesn't show it. She continues right on in that same too calm voice; that voice that will drive him insane if he tries to sit through it much longer.

"I want to talk about the nightmare, why do you think that you keep having it?" Again her eyes are apologetic, but she doesn't back away from her question. Frustration rises in him.

"Because that's what happened." His voice is scarcely above a whisper. He's afraid to raise it, he's afraid to try and unclench his teeth; he's afraid that if he does then he will lose control. He'll start screaming and then he'll be given more time here; he can't take more time here. Every minute that he spends here is a minute that is taken away from the time that he will spend with Max. "When she died, that's what happened."

"Do you think that maybe you blame your family a little bit for her death?" Her voice is gentle as well as her eyes; she already knows the answer to her question. In her mind it is as good as done. In his mind it is far from it.

"No…" His voice is a whisper. He doesn't want to be here anymore. "No… no, I don't blame them. They couldn't have done anything."

"You can't blame yourself for it, Fang. She made her own decision; one that might not even have been influenced by you. We'll never know."

"It was." He croaks, standing up to leave. "I know it was." His hand closes around the door knob. "If I hadn't left she'd still be here. Everything would have been okay."

"Where are you going?" Her voice sounds anxious but she makes no move to stop him. She is just like the others; a stone statue. All she does is deter him, well, not anymore. He flips her off, not looking back to see if she stands up; to see if a scowl crosses over her face. He doesn't look back once, because he's going to be with Max; he's tired of screwing around here.

**A/N: I'm sorry about this chapter, really I am, believe me I know that it is not up to my normal standard. I had a very, very difficult time writing it and out of the three versions I completed I think this one was my best. Once again, very sorry about it; on a more positive note, I would like to dedicate this chapter to the five people who reviewed the last one. This chapter goes out to: **Raeofmydarkness**, **Maxie89**, **legendaryhuntress**, **TheDarkAngelofAwesome**, and **JealousMindsThinkAlike**! Please I beg of you and everyone else who reads this to review and hopefully I will have enough motivation to make the next, and likely final chapter, spectacular… so, please, review, Review, REVIEW!**


	10. Chapter 10

One handful of brightly-colored pills, maybe twenty-five, maybe thirty; this is what it boils down to. Just one handful of brightly-colored pills, pills that he had, over the course of a month, pushed to the side of his mouth and pretended to swallow in front of his instructors; pills that he had stashed in a nick of his mattress. An old hole that some forgetful, or maybe just careless orderly had long-since forgotten to sew up or even check; one that he's sure has been used for purposes such as this before. Surely he is not the only kid who has ever been stashed away in this makeshift room, been given this squeaky-clean makeshift bed, and been told to take a handful of these makeshift pills in order to find happiness instead of pain.

Surely he is not the only kid who has ever resisted that notion; not the only kid for who pain is worthwhile and happiness is not a blue and white pill administered at the hands of some plump orderly. Surely he is not the only one who has ever looked to the heavens and found hope… surely he is not the only one who has ever done that. Surely he is not the only one to ever look at a handful of blue, white, pink, and orange brightly-colored pills and see, not a quick fix to depression but an eternity with the girl that he loves. Surely he can't be the only one to ever walk into the light and behold, like a siren, the girl of his dreams beckoning to him, walking towards him, all in one piece. Surely he can't be the only one to ever come back from that and view the world through different lenses?

He still has the flock; he still has Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel, maybe even Dylan if he is really pushing it, but somehow that is not enough. Somehow they are not enough. He loves them; there's no question in his mind about that. With the exception of Dylan he would gladly take a bullet for any one of them any day of the week… but it's not enough. They aren't enough to anchor him down; they should be, but they aren't; not when Max is up there. Not when every time he looks at one of them he sees the ghost of what should have been Max; they smile or they extend their wings and all he sees is her. All he can see is her in those movements and even more so in Angel. Angel has been the worst.

Everything the kid does is a direct copy of Max; they look nothing alike but yet they are identical. The way that she moves and the way that her eyes flare… even the way that she talks. Word for word it is almost like watching Max as a kid, and always his hands shake; always his thoughts turn to her. If she could see her now… damn she'd be proud, and she'd have damn-good reason to be proud, too. In all the times that she has visited that little girl has not shed a single tear, has not started rapidly blinking in the way that Nudge so often does; has really not done anything other than come and hold her head high. He has no doubt that she will rise past this; he has no doubt that, with a little time, all of them will get past this. None of them will stand, as he does now, with a handful of brightly-colored pills; none of them will look at that handful as he does now, as if it is the sweetest nectar on earth.

None of them will ever push aside their stash, grab a ballpoint writing utensil, and prepare their suicide note, as he does now.

_Dear Flock,_

_First of all I want to say that I love all of you. More than any of you can ever understand. Second I want to tell you that this isn't your fault, and Angel, I swear to you it isn't. I expect all of you to rise past this, but I don't kid myself that it won't be hard. I don't kid myself that you will not go through pain and that this will not seem like a tragedy to you… and for that I am sorry. I'm sorry, but I swear to you that I will be happier there, wherever there really is. I'm going to be with Max, and I know you all understand that. _

_Iggy, I'm sorry. For forcing you into this position that you don't even want I am sorry, and I can only hope that one day you'll be able to forgive me for it. You have to lead the flock. Max and I have both tried our hand and even Angel, but you're the next in line, and with you I think we'll have it right. I love you, man, you're a brother to me, sure as hell, and I hate to leave you but I have to. You have Ella now and one day you'll understand where I'm at, that is, if you don't already. _

_Nudge, this will probably be close to hardest on you and you have to know how sorry I am for that. I love you, just like I love everyone in the flock, you're my sister and that will never change. You have to be strong, though, okay? You will have to help Iggy and you'll have to watch out for Angel, she might not always seem like it, but she's still young and she still needs you. _

_Gazzy, I know that you'll get through this. You'll get through this just fine and I hope to God that you'll be able to help the others, too. They might rag on you sometimes, but really you are one of the strongest of us; never forget that. Never allow yourself to forget that. Watch out for your sister, she will need you just as she will probably need the others, and Angel if you're listening I'm sorry, but we all know how you are. I love you, Gasman, and I hope that you keep up with what makes you happy. Don't let my death pull you away from it, that would devastate me. _

_Angel, sweetheart, please don't blame yourself. Don't think that you didn't see this in time, and don't think that about Max either. You have to stop beating yourself up about it because it's not what Max would have wanted and it's not what I want. Do you realize how proud Max would be of you if she could see you now? One day I have no doubt that you'll be a great leader; one day I have no doubt that you'll be the best of them all, but for now try just being a kid. Have fun, fly, mind control some people into buying you a pony… I don't know; just don't waste your time grieving me. Like I said before, there's nothing to grieve. I've seen the other side and it's beautiful there, for me at least I will be happy. I want nothing less for you. I love you, sweetheart. _

_Fly on, _

_Fang_

**A/N: Hey, how do you think I did? I had a little difficulty with the note, but I think that doing the multiple persons was the best, don't you? I feel relatively good about it at least. I hope you all enjoyed it, and if you did I do expect a review especially on this final installment. I think we've had a good ride, and I do want to present the opportunity of an epilogue, that is, if we get enough reviews on this chapter. By enough I mean around ten, so I hope that you can all find it in your heart to write a word or two. This chapter is dedicated to **zorua**, **Raeofmydarkness**, **TheDarkAngelofAwesome**, **Maxie89**, and **JealousMindsThinkAlike**. **


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